A Flair For The Dramatic
by MisaRox
Summary: Ric Flair reflects on what the fans think of him and finally decides to do something about it. *Can't say much without giving it away. but I will warn you: think suicide. **COMPLETE! Read A/N**
1. Depression of The Man

Disclaimer: I would never wish these events on Ric Flair - EVER. I wrote this from what I feel.  
  
--  
  
As Ric Flair taped his index finger, he smiled at the thought of the audience, waiting for him. He was already in full uniform and was ready to go. He'd stay in his locker room until he was set to head to the stage. A tear escaped his eye as he envisioned the standing ovation they'd give him. He appreciated it all the time. He loved wrestling, just as much as he loved the fans.  
  
He wished they could say the same thing.  
  
He glanced at the clock. He still had 10 minutes until he had to go. He went into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it. He leaned against the sink, his hands grasping the edge and he glared at his reflection. He felt like punching the mirror, to shatter it into a million pieces. Then he could see himself for what he truly was.  
  
A part of him hated the fans. They spoke of him as if he, himself, didn't know he wasn't in his prime anymore. It was obvious that he wasn't but he still had it. Maybe not even 'it', but he had something and he wanted to use it.  
  
When Ric grew up, he was taught to use what you have while you have it. He'd been following that advice all his life. 30 years of giving the audience his all and now, they no longer appreciated it.  
  
Ric picked up a small razor he had sitting on the sink. He stared at it, glimmer in the light. He contemplated what to do with it. It was like a foreign object to him, really. He was aware that people would use it for cutting themselves, but he'd never done it. Now, he felt, it was time to change that.  
  
A tear ran down his cheek and he watched it fall into the drain. He held the razor, tightly, between his fingers and stared at it.  
  
He wished the fans appreciated him more. He knew they were entitled to their opinion, but they didn't have to be so vulgar; so harsh. They wanted him to retire. Then die. He couldn't believe it when he heard of it.  
  
Had he not given them enough? Was 30 years of entertaining nothing to them? Did he do a bad job? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't give them what they wanted to see.  
  
He brought his other arm up and stared at his wrist. It was clean of any scars, and the only thing there was his vein. He wondered if he should do it fast, so the pain wouldn't get to him. Or maybe slow, so he could feel it sink in, and drown himself in agony.  
  
Maybe if he did it now, he could die later, and the fans wouldn't care. Maybe they'd be happy that they wouldn't have to see him on television anymore. 'Ric Flair Commits Suicide', the headlines will read, and people will look at it and say, "It's about time."  
  
He brought the razor to his wrist and froze. Fast? Slow? Now, it didn't matter. He pressed the sharp edge against his skin, slowly moving it along his wrist. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as the pain grew down the cut path of his arm.  
  
'They aren't going to care,' he thought to himself. After reaching the other end, he threw the razor down to the floor, as if the feel of it in his hand burned him. He watched the crimson substance seep out of the cut and the drops of blood plunged into the sink. The leak became more rapid, more intense. He watched it, in awe, almost unable to believe what he was doing to himself.  
  
He thought of Beth. She was 30,000 miles away from him right now. The kids, too. He'd probably never see them again. He'd never see her smile at him when he'd walk into the door of their house. He'd never see David make it into the WWE and win a championship. He'd never see Reed make it to high school.  
  
He meant what he said when he told the fans they were his family. If they didn't care, his real family wouldn't either.  
  
Ric leaned against the locked door and slid down to sit as the blood dripped onto his 'Nature Boy' outfit.  
  
He felt himself grow delicate and weaker. It was a rush to him. Almost exciting. The pain was much better than his emotional pain. He wondered why he didn't do this sooner.  
  
His eyelids grew heavier as the drops of blood dripped at a faster pace. He weakened completely and let loose, his arms falling to the ground. He closed his eyes and he began to breathe harder.  
  
The fans didn't care about Ric Flair anymore. And now, neither did he.  
  
-- 


	2. Awoken

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I hope you all like this one as much. --  
  
Ric slowly opened his eyes to find himself in his own blood. His eyes widened at the sight of the cut on his wrist, almost as if he didn't remember doing it. He rushed to the sink, nearly slipping, and ran the warm water, placing his wrist underneath it. He bit his lip and the stinging feel of the water's contact to the large cut.  
  
He watched the blood spiral down the drain, nearly hypnotizing himself. As he looked up at his reflection in the mirror, he jumped at the sound of a hard knock.  
  
"RIC!" A voice on the other side shouted.  
  
"Arn?" Ric whispered. More people began to pound at the door and they shouted for him, "Ric!"  
  
Ric spotted the razor that helped him on the ground and stared at it as he picked it up. His hand trembled and he looked at his clean wrist.  
  
"Ric! Open the door!"  
  
Ric glared at the door, giving it an annoyed look. He turned back to the razor in his hand. He brought it to his wrist and froze to think. Fast? Slow? He wanted to feel the pain crawl through him. It'd be better than the emotional pain he was enduring.  
  
"RIC!" With one swift move, Ric slashed his wrist and then screamed out in agony! His face twisted in pain and he slammed his fist against the mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. The doorknob rattled at the hand of someone outside. Flair threw the razor across the bathroom floor, "They won't care, Arn! Leave me alone!"  
  
The pounding increased as the shouting voices demanded Ric to open the door. Ric looked at his arm; it was littered in blood and glass. Blood dripped onto the tile floor as his body began to weaken again.  
  
"RIC!"  
  
He shut his eyes tight, trying to think straight but failed. He staggered a bit and nearly fell back, but ended up against the door with a 'thud'. "RIC!"  
  
Ric took a desperate breath and managed to utter, "Call. . . Beth. . ." He slid down the door again and landed in the puddle of his blood.  
  
~Meanwhile~  
  
Beth watched the rain through the window in silence. The only sound was the splatter of rain drops, hitting the outside World. Her hands were clasped together, nervously, and they slightly shook, under their own pressure. She was tense.  
  
She beheld a horrible feeling in her but she had no idea what it was. She found herself not wanting to know, since her current state was bad enough. She turned to the television, which was on mute. The announcers, King and Jim Ross, were on screen and they seemed incredibly serious.  
  
She knew her husband's match was next, but she could wait to see it. She sat on an armchair and sighed, calmly. She closed her eyes as her hands clutched the armrests. The feeling she had was growing worse, almost impassioned. She thought of Ric and hoped he was okay. He was usually the one who made her feel as nervous as she was.  
  
Tired of listening to her paranoia, she un-muted the TV. "We will inform you of Ric Flair's whereabouts, as soon as possible." Jim Ross said. Beth dropped the remote in shock. What was wrong with him? He hadn't even had his match yet and already, something was wrong with him?!  
  
She turned to the phone beside her, and as if on cue, it rang. She jumped for it, "Hello?" "Beth, are you watching?" Beth nodded, despite the fact that Arn couldn't see, "What's wrong with him?" Thunder clapped as she waited in suspense for a reply.  
  
"Come quick," Arn said and then hung up.  
  
-- 


	3. Going Home

--  
  
Ric never fully awoke until he felt Arn Anderson and Charles Robinson, aiding him out of the bathroom. Pat Patterson and Vince McMahon were there as well, watching the weakened 'Nature Boy' be brought to his feet with assistance.  
  
"What should we tell him?" Pat asked, rubbing away some stress in his neck. Vince gulped and cleared his throat, "I think we should give him some time off. He's sick." The 2 watched Ric stagger out of the locker room. Pat grabbed Flair's things and Vince stayed behind. He looked down at the blood below him.  
  
**  
  
Standing at the hospital room window, Ric looked down the 4 stories. Despite being told to remain in bed, his stubborn mind took over and he refused to stay in one spot. His eyes darted to the clock. It had been 5 hours. No one came to talk to him, but he didn't expect anyone anyway. He wasn't even sure if anyone was allowed to see him.  
  
A timid knock on the door didn't budge him and he kept frozen. J.R. stepped in, cowboy hat in hand, with his head slightly bowed, "Ric," he began, "Beth is here to see you."  
  
At first, Ric didn't move, but then he turned to see his wife enter. He could tell she'd been crying for quite some time. She looked at his blank, emotionless face and felt like screaming. She could see his pain, and wanted to take it all away.  
  
With no words spoken, she came to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder. She didn't feel him return the gesture, which was understandable. His arms were kept at his side and his expression was still vacant.  
  
She backed away a bit and took his face between her hands, "Are you okay?" Ric blinked, then nodded, slowly. She helped him into a nearby chair and held his hand in hers.  
  
Just then, Vince walked in. He wore a long face and looked at Ric, "We've decided to give you time off. Take as much as you need. Your mental health is important to us." Ric blinked at the Chairman, "Thank you."  
  
McMahon nodded and left the room with J.R. Beth took a chair and sat beside Ric. He turned to her and smiled, weakly. "They said you can leave here. Rehabilitate at home," she said, as she fidgeted with his hair, "It'll be better for you."  
  
Ric nodded, "I want to go home."  
  
**  
  
Upon arriving at home, Ric stared at his house in awe. It was so quiet and lonely. Beth had sent Ashley and Reed to friend's houses so they wouldn't bother their father.  
  
Ric walked into the large living room and collapsed onto the couch, face up. He watched the ceiling fan, and started getting a headache. He covered his face with his hands and exhaled, softly. Beth looked over him, "Do you need anything?"  
  
Ric remained still but then shook his head and took his hands away. She sat next to him. He didn't look at her. Instead, his eyes were trained on the blank, white ceiling above him. He didn't know what to think about anymore. He thought of the pain and almost smiled. He barely remembered being dragged out of the bathroom. When he did it, he realized he wasn't thinking straight. He wasn't supposed to cut his wrists, but something else. . .  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Beth asked, breaking his train of thought. "Nothing," he uttered. "Why . . . did you do it?" She asked, almost afraid to. Ric shrugged, "They won't care when I'm gone. I thought I might as well get it over with."  
  
Beth cringed; she couldn't believe what she was hearing, "But why? You have so much to live for."  
  
Ric sat up, suddenly, and glared at her, "Like what? People want me to stop wrestling; wrestling is my life! If I can't do what I love, then what's the point of living?!" Beth remained calm and took his hand, sitting him next to her.  
  
"Family."  
  
Before Ric could reply, the phone rang. He looked at it and watched it ring. After 5 rings, he answered, "Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?" It was Ric's youngest son, Reed. Ric's lip trembled, "I'm fine." He looked at Beth, unsure of having Reed know about what he'd done to himself.  
  
"You'll be okay, Dad. Don't worry." Ric smiled, "Thanks."  
  
What Reed said next made Ric go numb.  
  
"I love you, Dad."  
  
The words of his son sunk in and Ric no longer knew what to feel. "Bye," Reed said, wanting his father to rest. "Bye," Ric uttered and then hung up. He sat, almost in awe and turned to Beth, "I'll be upstairs."  
  
He left the room and headed to the staircase. Beth stayed where she was, "Are you going to be okay?" Ric froze on a stair step.  
  
"Yeah, I'll be okay," He said, as he pulled out a razor from his pocket.  
  
-- 


	4. Opening Old Wounds

--  
  
Ric gazed at the razor in his hand. He'd locked the bathroom door, so he was free to do anything. No one could stop him. The only other person in the house was Beth, and she trusted him. But if she found out what he was trying to do, she probably wouldn't anymore.  
  
He sighed at his wrists, which were heavily wrapped. Maybe he could unwrap them and then wrap them back to the way they were . . . when he was done. That way, no one would notice. . . maybe. Or he could just not do it at all, and he could rehabilitate with no problems.  
  
He returned to his thoughts, that no one would care, and began to unwrap his wounds. He remembered WrestleMania 8. The fans care back then. They love to hate him, and best of all, he was in his prime, unlike now. He thought of that heart attack he had in Old WCW. They cared back then. They even flooded the hospital with phone calls, asking if he'd be okay.  
  
But all of that was a long time ago. No one cared anymore. He wondered what he did to deserve it. Was he in for it from the start, or was it something he did wrong down the line? He smiled at the memory of DDP's autobiography. "Real World's Champion," Diamond called him. That meant so much to Ric. People always saw him as a legend, an icon, a hero. But DDP saw him as 'real'.  
  
He frowned at his now-visible wrist. The stitches looked awful and ruined his intentions. He sighed, "Damn it." He then wrapped it and glared at his reflection.  
  
He hated what he had become. He used to be a lid back man who was in his prime. 'Best Ever', they'd call him, but not anymore. He wished he had a friend now. Arn, Charles, or Diamond. Anyone. Sure, Beth was there, but he didn't want to worry her any more than she already was. He let out a frustrated sigh, realizing he was probably worrying her right now.  
  
He looked at his forearm. It was like his wrists used to be: clean of any scars. He took the razor and watched it tremble, with his hand. If he did it, Beth would notice. But it'd be too late for anyone to stop him. They'd keep a closer eye on him but that's all. And he'd stay home longer from WWE longer, so the fans wouldn't have to see him.  
  
As he brought the blade to his skin, a knock on the door stopped him. "Ric?" Beth's voice asked. Ric's head snapped up and he glared at the door. "Are you okay?" He looked at his razor and began to contemplate second thoughts.  
  
"I . . ." he uttered, unsure how to answer. Could he tell her? Could she keep it a secret? "Of course not," he whispered. She'd probably kick him out if he kept doing it, or kept trying. . . . He thought about that. She wouldn't do that far. He did used to be into steroids in the 80's for a little while, but she helped him through that.  
  
Before he could think it through, he heard the jingle of keys. His eyes darted to the doorknob. Clever wife, he had; she brought the key. He couldn't blame her for that. She was worried as hell about him. He felt awful about that.  
  
His wife, a lively, happy, beautiful woman - his best friend - was so down now, and he caused it. He hoped she didn't think his doing was her fault. It had nothing to do with her. She'd been nothing but supportive throughout the entire time they knew each other.  
  
He dropped the blade into the sink just as she came in. Her expression was calm and caring, as if she honestly didn't know what he was doing. She came up to him and placed her hands on the sides of his arms, almost protectively. She glanced at the sink and spotted the razor blade.  
  
She turned to him, "Did you do it?" Ric showed her his arms, to prove he hadn't. He saw a bit of happiness in her eyes. Relief, even, since she'd came to him just in time.  
  
"Leave it be, Ric. It won't get any better, you won't get any better, if you keep trying to do it."  
  
Beth took the blade out of the sink and left the bathroom. Ric watched her leave and then followed. They went into their bedroom and Beth, still serious, remarked, "They're coming here tomorrow. They want you to be there."  
  
Ric tilted his head, confused, "But Vince said I could take as long as I wanted."  
  
He watched as Beth stepped into their bathroom and came out, empty handed. He wondered what she did with it, but decided he wasn't desperate enough to ask. Or look, for that matter.  
  
"I know, but it's not every day they come to Charlotte. Plus, it's important you be there." She smiled.  
  
Ric blinked, "Just because it's my hometown doesn't mean they want to see me." Beth shook her head, "No, it's not about them. It's someone else." She left it at that and exited the room.  
  
Ric stayed where he was, with no idea of what she was talking about.  
  
  
  
-- 


	5. Wishes Granted

--  
  
When Ric and Beth arrived at the arena, everything was ready for the show. Ric wondered what he was doing there, though. Beth took his hand and led him further into the backstage area. They found Vince, who was pacing, outside a room. He looked up at them, smiled and extended his hand.  
  
Ric blinked and looked down at his hand. His coat was bigger than it was supposed to be, so no one could see his wrapped wounds. He shook McMahon's hand and asked, "What did you need me for?"  
  
Vince stepped aside and opened a door to the room nearby, "There's someone I'd like you to meet."  
  
Ric slowly walked into the room, but froze just inside the doorway. Vince placed a hand on Ric's shoulder, "Her name is Adrianne. She has leukemia. She's a "Make A Wish" child. . . .She wanted to meet you."  
  
A teenage girl, with a small smile, sat in the room alone. As the sight of her sunk in, Ric smiled back. Vince walked out and shut the door, to leave the 2 alone.  
  
Ric came and sat next to her. Despite having leukemia, she looked beautiful. Her dark brown hair was short and in a ponytail. Her eyes glimmered with joy, now that she was sitting next to her idol; her hero.  
  
Not wanting to make the highlight of her life awkward, she extended her hand, "Adrianne." Ric caught himself and shook her hand. "I'm a big fan of yours. I mean, I haven't seen your entire career but if I could've, I would've," she smiled.  
  
"Well, how long have you been watching?" Adrianne thought for a moment, "7 years. WCW fan, I was. And then you came here. I was so happy to see you again."  
  
Ric watched the excitement grow in her eyes, and heard it in her voice. It gave him an amazing feeling. "I hope you don't mind me asking but . . .why did you want to meet me, out of everyone else in WWE?" Ric asked. Adrianne jokingly rolled her eyes, as if asking 'why wouldn't I want to meet you?' Ric tensed as he waited for her reply.  
  
"I hate when people talk down on you. They say you're . . .not in your prime. To me, your better than half the roster! I know you put your all in every one of your matches and you do your best. That inspires me. You make me want to be the best at everything I do. I promised myself I'd give them my all when I do something. I can put my heart into anything."  
  
Her eyes dropped, along with the enthusiasm in her voice, "I wanted to be a wrestler."  
  
Muteness injured their blissful moment and it became awkward. Ric didn't know what to say, and he felt horrible. He looked down at his wrists, to make sure she couldn't see them. "How come you haven't been around lately?" Adrianne asked, killing the silence that had become all too loud in the room.  
  
Flair didn't know how to answer. He couldn't possibly tell her. She seemed like his most dedicated fan. He wasn't going to make this a sad experience for her. "Personal . . .stuff." 'Well,' he thought, 'it's not a complete lie.'  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that. How are you doing now?" she asked, a tone of sympathy in her voice now. She watched her hero's eyes dart nervously, and she wondered why.  
  
"I'm doing okay," he replied. He couldn't get her words out of his head. They meant so much to him. She hated when people talked down on him. That gave him an indescribable feeling. She was like his dream come true; His way out. His reason to live.  
  
He suddenly felt a pang of guilt in his stomach about his attempts to kill himself. What would she have thought? He would've gone without meeting her. That would've been a big mistake.  
  
"Will you be back soon?" Adrianne asked him, worried about his silent state.  
  
Ric smiled, sweetly, at her, "I'll be back. I'll return sooner than I thought I would."  
  
-- 


	6. Weeks Later: Ric's Return

--  
  
Ric rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping. He jumped off the last stair and reached for the front door's knob. "I'm leaving!" He shouted. He turned to find Beth coming up behind him. She was smiling. He loved that to no end; seeing her smile again. "You have everything?" she asked. Ric nodded. She took his hands and looked at his wrists. The scars had faded but they'd be there for a while.  
  
She looked up, into his gunmetal colored eyes and kissed him, "I love you." He held her hand, tight. She'd helped him so much the last few weeks. He wished he could stay longer; he wished he wanted to stay longer. "I love you, too."  
  
They took one last look into each other's eyes and Ric walked out. He thought of the phone call he'd made earlier. "Vince, I'm ready to come back." He'd said. He heard Vince let out a breath of relief, "I'm glad you're okay, Ric. You're sure you're really ready? I know your situation has probably brought you closer to your family. You can stay home longer and spend time with them for a while, if you like."  
  
Ric thought for a second. He had spent lots of time with Beth, and he hated leaving. But he had someone to come back for now. He could just imagine Adrianne's face when he shows up on TV.  
  
"No thanks," Ric had said, finally, "I have another family, and I want to see them now."  
  
**  
  
When Ric arrived, everyone came to him, shook his hand and gave him words of encouragement, despite the fact that he'd already made a full recovery. When he came into his locker room, an envelope sat on the table. He threw his things down and stared at it.  
  
"To Ric Flair: My hero; My idol; My favorite; My Life" it read. He smiled and sat on the bench. It must've been from Adrianne. He carefully tore the envelope and read the letter.  
  
"Dear Ric Flair,  
  
I hope you're doing okay now. If you're reading this, then you're back! WELCOME BACK!!!!! I missed seeing you on TV. Every time you're not on, I worry. More so lately, since you had that personal stuff going on. I've been watching every second of RAW, to make sure I don't miss anything. If you're reading this, just know I'm sitting in front of a TV set somewhere. I loved meeting you! You're truly larger than life itself. My dream has come true and my life is complete now that I got to talk to you. It's an experience I will surely never forget. I'd make this letter longer, but words can't describe how happy you've made me. Thank you so much for fulfilling my hopes and dreams.  
  
Love, Adrianne"  
  
A tear rolled down Ric's cheek and he put the letter back in the envelope. He was glad that he brought a smile to her face. It was a good thing she came into his life when she did. She really made a difference, an impact, on him.  
  
"Ric!" A voice shouted. Ric turned to see Pat Patterson walk in. He stood and they hugged, brotherly. "Welcome back," Pat whispered. As they backed away, he patted Flair on the shoulder. "Listen, I know this may be too much to ask. You just got back and all, but are you okay to wrestle tonight?" Ric looked down at the envelope. "My hero; My idol; My favorite; My Life".  
  
"Sure, I'm ready." Ric replied with a smile. Pat nodded and left the room. Ric tucked the letter into his gym bag and caught his eye on the glimmering 'Nature Boy' robe. He carefully took it out and held it up, to admire it. It was read, lined with rhinestones and sequins. It was one of his favorites. He'd worn it on many occasions, defending titles left and right.  
  
And now, there was one more special occasion. His return match, for Adrianne. He hoped she'd like it.  
  
**  
  
After Ric's return match, and victory, he headed to the back. As soon as he stepped through the curtain, he was met with hugs and slaps on the back. He was met with more when he got to the backstage area. Everyone shook his hand and complimented his performance. After he'd thanked almost everyone on the roster, Vince McMahon walked up to him. He wasn't smiling, or offering his hand. He stared at Ric, seriously, and hugged him. Ric let the overwhelming moment sink in and he hugged back.  
  
Vince backed away first, "We need to talk."  
  
Ric wasn't sure if it was going to be a man-to-man kind of talk, or like that post-WrestleMania 8 talk. He threw his robe over his shoulder and followed Vince down the halls. He led Flair into his office and turned to him, "You did great out there. I'm glad you're back, and that you're still going." Ric smiled, but when he saw Vince didn't, it faded.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
McMahon cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, "How can I say this? I -" For the first time in forever, Ric realized Vince was speechless. He couldn't tell if it was good or bad.  
  
"During your match, we got a call. The "Make A Wish" foundation called. It was about Adrianne."  
  
The color drained from Ric's face. He knew what to think but he didn't want to think it. He closed his eyes and heard Vince say, "Adrianne didn't make it through the day. She just . . . left a few minutes ago. I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry. I know she meant a lot to you."  
  
Ric's heart sank and he sighed. He wasn't sure what to do or say. It slowly sunk in that he'd just met her weeks before and now, she was gone.  
  
Vince left the room, his head hung, sadly.  
  
Ric stayed where he was. "At least she's not suffering anymore," he said, aloud. It found it quite amazing that she was a little girl and she'd just become his inspiration. She made her dedication known to him, and he loved that.  
  
'You make me want to be the best at everything I do.' She had said.  
  
He inspired her and now she had inspired him. He came back to her; for her. She was his most dedicated fan. She made him want to continue to perform. And for that, he thanked her.  
  
  
  
--  
  
A/N: Okay, I know I'm probably going to be asked why I wrote this and why I wrote it like I did. Truth be told, I have no idea why I made him want to commit suicide. It was just an idea I got, out of nowhere. But the plot, in general, of the fans not liking him - that was real.  
  
There are countless people who dislike him. That's cool and all; they're entitled to their opinion. But the problem I have with them is that they insult him; criticize him; call him named and mock him. That makes me sick to my stomach. If they don't like Ric Flair, can't they just say 'I don't like Flair,' and then leave it at that?  
  
They probably don't realize that Richard Fliehr DOES NOT have to spend 300 days on the road. He does not have to spend time away from his family. BUT he does! Why? Because he loves you! He loves each and every one of you! And he loves entertaining YOU. Be grateful that you get to see him. This may be the last time we see him in action and we have to take advantage of it!  
  
To the Ric haters: I know you might not be reading this, but I want to get this out. I would like to see you. I'd like to see you step into a ring, at 53 years of age, and give a 5 star match. I'd LOVE to see that. And if you can't do it, then I'd shut up if I were you. Disliking him is cool; insulting him is not.  
  
I'd say for you reading this to tell your Ric-hating friends, and for those Ric-hating friends to tell their Ric-hating friends what I said, but don't. It's their loss.  
  
I hope you all liked this fic. I put a lot into it. I took what I felt, and I made it Ric who felt it.  
  
And to Ric Fliehr: I know you're probably not reading this. You're a busy man, but I want to let this out, too. You are brilliant. You're amazing. And you make me want to be the best at everything I do. You're my hero, my idol, my favorite and my life. I'd love to meet you one day. Until then, keep doing what you do best. Thank you for inspiring me.  
  
~Romi  
  
-- 


End file.
